tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2564101469445242112024-02-18T21:24:58.039-06:00KazooMegshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.comBlogger132125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-31892998999277130252014-01-16T20:34:00.001-06:002014-01-16T20:34:19.679-06:00After 2 months of hemming and hawing the bankground check papers are completed and notarized and ready to be turned in to start this whole adoption process. I find this terrifying and exciting and this is only the first, easiest little baby step. After this there are home inspections and parenting classes and then possibly an ACTUAL ALIVE CHILD thing.
The inside of my head looks something like this:
Holy shit I can't wait until we have our own kid.
Holy shit what the hell am I thinking; I cannot believe I think I can do this.
On the other hand, I know meth heads who are doing this. Surely I can do that well.
Way to set the bar really high, Megs.
What? I'm trying to manage expectations.
By setting the bar so low you might actually get the kid taken away right after you get it adopted?
I'm pretty lucky there doesn't appear to be much of a psychological evaluation involved in this process. I don't know that my prospective children are all that lucky there doesn't appear to be much of a psychological evaluation, but whatever. I will be the boss of them anyway.
Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-61807761957480229472013-10-18T00:07:00.001-05:002013-10-18T00:07:06.783-05:00Hello? Is anyone still here?
I kind of checked out of the blogging thing for awhile. You know how it is. You get busy and keep meaning to come back and then you can't think what to write and then it's a year and a half later and you have a couple of drinks at a charity event and decide to blog. A tale as old as time.
So, what's new?
My hair grew back. I lost my mind and agreed to be the matron of honor for my sister in law. I learned to sew ( I make quilts! And dresses that don't quite fit! Because I am fancy!) My husband and I are starting the process to adopt a baby. Like, we brought home the background check paperwork. We still haven't filled it out. Baby steps. I think I want to do it and then one of the dogs wakes me up at 4:00 in the morning and I get mad and then I remember that I think I want a baby. I'm pretty sure they don't let you just lock the baby out of the bedroom and tell it to shut up. I might be wrong. It can go on the list of questions to ask in the parenting class.
And now I have to go watch a Hart of Dixie marathon. Rachel Bilson as a genius surgeon in a small Alabama town. The entire show is cast with people faking southern accents. It's ridiculous and I can't stop watching it.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-23321758018155996362012-05-24T23:19:00.002-05:002012-05-24T23:20:10.068-05:00It's not a plague of locusts or anything, but good griefOur dumb dog is at the vet for bladder stone surgery. Which costs $500. 500 real American dollars. That's kind of a lot of dollars. Especially for a free dog that was supposed to be inexpensive. We had her fixed. The end. Except then we had to replace the blinds that she destroyed and the curtains and the laptop and the paint on the door frames. Then we had to replace every pair of underwear in the house plus every single pair of my pajama pants and three pairs of blue jeans. And now the bladder stone surgery which follows 2 $200 vet visits in which they tried to determine what was wrong with her in the first place.
I have a bald spot on the back of my head. And my husband does not understand why "It is not that big a deal" is not a helpful thing to say to me. I have a fucking bald spot. I realize that it is not exactly genocide or war orphans or those kids with the flies on their eyeballs. I will probably be over it by tomorrow. But right now, I would like to sob inconsolably over my big fucking bald spot that came from no fucking where in peace. Like he wouldn't be upset if he started turning into (non)fucking Quasimodo.
My IBS has been overactive the last 2 weeks, and yet for some reason I cannot seem to lose any weight. I'm sure you are glad that I shared that little detail of my life with you. I am a giver, is what I am. A fat, broke, balding giver.
My mom's hours have been cut in half at her job. Which means she will start needing money from me again. Which I don't have. Because the dog. And also whatever amount of money I have to give my hairdresser to fix this baldness shit. As long as it doesn't involve hair extensions. I don't know why. Except I'm in a contrary mood and I want my own fucking hair back. Give me things that are impossible. GIVE THEM.
I'm 30. Which is fine, except apparently everything in the media is all "30?! That's so gross! Minus 12 billion hotness points, Old Person!You might as well just have your sex organs removed now and die because it's not like anyone will want to have sex with you. Your husband is a total liar who is picturing an 18 year old when he has to sleep with you." Because the balding and the fatness aren't enough.
My endometriosis is getting worse again. It feels like someone wrapped several strands of barbed wire around my midsection and now they are trying to cut me in half with it. Which may also explain the baldness freakout and the oldness freakout.
I'm going to take, like, 8 Midol and go to sleep now. And maybe a Valium wouldn't hurt anything either.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-23540419119969111382012-04-11T22:03:00.002-05:002012-04-11T22:23:03.631-05:00The ThingMy mom works as a home health care giver for a very sweet little lady. She works with 2 sisters and they have all gotten to be fairly good friends. One of the sisters has a daughter. The daughter has 4 children. 2 of the children were fathered by her cousin, and were adopted by his family. She is "raising" the 2 youngest boys. And by raising, I mean maintaining custody and leaving them with her mother and her aunt for days at a time while she goes off and gets high. She just got out of jail, had a court date, was supposed to go back to jail, and is now hiding out from the law. The 2 boys' father is...snorting pills or something. Also out of jail on bail.<br /><br />Back a few months ago, my husband and I were approached by the girl's aunt about the possibility of adopting the youngest boy in order to keep him from going into foster care and losing touch with the family. About the time that we decided we were really into the idea of taking this little boy, the mother decided that the $5,000 tax return, the WIC benefits, and the fact that her drug dealer lets her pay in food stamps (which would decrease without the kids) were worth the few days a month she deigns to remember that she has children. My husband suggested that we could pay her. It would probably work. It's completely illegal, but it would probably work. My husband was unaware it was illegal when he made that statement. Based on conversations he had with a co-worker who adopted his kids through an agency (and was told $10,000 for a black baby, $15,000 for a mixed baby, and $20,000 for a white baby)he failed to realize that was different from buying a baby. How is it different? Well, because. Regardless, neither of us feels that it is a good idea to give a drug addict money and expect her not to ask for more without some kind of official, legal document. We cannot very well legally document the illegal purchase of a baby. Anyway, we decided to tell the aunt that while we had been interested, we were no longer interested. We won't be adopting him because he is now beginning to walk. Frankly, I wish I was a better person, willing to take an older child. But I'm not that good of a person. I want a little time to adjust to HAVING a child before having to adjust to a child that is running around all over the place and falling down and active. <br /><br />So that was the thing. I was surprised at how badly I wanted that little boy. I have always been a little ambivalent about the whole motherhood deal. Turns out, I want to do it. I am a little late posting this because I was surprisingly upset over the way it all turned out. I'm still a little sad. I apologize for the maudlinness...maudlinity...sorry this isn't funny or whatever. I'll be back to doing whatever it is I do on the next post.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-35090025591156490572012-03-04T21:36:00.002-06:002012-03-04T21:46:39.413-06:00Night of the Living YuppiesToday my husband and I attended church, ate brunch with a friend, went to the mall, and then came home to putter around the house. Teenage me would bitch slap me for such a suburban cliche of a day, but I kind of liked it.<br /><br />To be fair, "brunch" occurred at a Waffle House and "putter around the house" actually means "played Guitar Hero for four hours until I cooked dinner and we watched East Bound and Down". <br /><br />So it could be worse.<br /><br />Bonus "view of a marriage" conversation:<br /><br />While we are playing Words with Friends against one another, in the same room:<br /><br />Him: Did you like how I crushed you with that last word?<br /><br />Me: You crushed me? You beat me by 5 points. How the hell did you crush me?<br /><br />Him: Because I was saving it and you thought you were ahead and then I pulled it out in a last minute defeat.<br /><br />Me: You didn't crush me. Crushing involves a larger point margin.<br /><br />Him: I crushed you. I more than crushed you. I ripped your beating heart out of your chest and then I defecated in the bleeding hole. You will never recover.<br /><br />Me:...It is nice to not always be the crazy one in this relationship.<br /><br />Him: Crushed. You.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-18739366023085998752012-02-17T20:45:00.002-06:002012-02-17T20:56:40.234-06:00Sick PuppySunny, the dog frequently referred to as "Bunny" in this house, because she is about as close as you can get to being a rabbit while actually being a dog, did something to her neck that is making my life miserable. She is on a muscle relaxant, a ridiculous dose of steroids, and a pain killer that could probably fell a moose. But that is probably a good thing, as she's not supposed to run, play, or jump. Unfortuantely, sometimes it makes her sleepy and sometimes it makes her sit rigidly straight, panting like a maniac, while her eyeballs roll around and she generally appears to be a complete psycho. Also, confession, we don't crate her and never have. I don't usually tell people that because they act like it's a major sin, but frankly she has always ALWAYS hated the crate. In fact, to say she hates the crate is a little like saying the Westboro Baptist Church isn't very fond of gay people. Which is to say, a giant understatement. She trembles violently and generally vomits any time you try to put her in the crate. <br /><br />Anyway, this means I don't sleep because I have to stop her from jumping up or down on the bed (which is another way the medication sucks, because she has NO IDEA that she is supposed to feel bad). And of course, I keep trying to reason with her, by saying "Now, Bunny, you know you can't jump or play with Stormy, or run right now. I know that sucks but you have hurt yourself and have to lie still for Mama so you don't herniate a disc and require expensive surgery and/or become paralysed for life." And she looks back at me with her super dialated eyes, and basically says, "Dude. I understood the words Bunny, Stormy, and Mama. Because I'm a fucking dog. And also I am so high right now." <br /><br />And then she jumps down from the couch or up onto the bed or whatever thing I am convinced will make her crippled forever. I managed to stop the running in the yard by making her harness, though. She used to have one and then Stormy ate it and it's a whole big thing and they always go out in the yard anyway so we never replaced it. Plus they require a PhD in mechanical engineering to actually get on the dog. So I made one out of an old pair of thong panties. Don't judge me. It makes an excellent harness. And I'm not going to actually WEAR them again. So shut your pie hole.<br /><br />And we get to do this for a MONTH! Super yay!Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-72958747753238889972012-02-09T10:47:00.004-06:002012-02-09T10:58:49.662-06:002nd sick day in a row. It's like a vacation only with more vomit and trips to the bathroom.Actually, it's fairly similar to my last vacation in Mexico. Except of course for the fact that I haven't thrown up in 10 years, and my whole streak is ruined. Wasn't there a t.v. show with an episode where one of the characters was vomit three since '03 or something? It was like that, except I was vomit free since like, 2001 or 2002. But that doesn't rhyme.<br /><br />Um. Anyway. Very productive two days. I've watched about 7,000 episodes of Law and Order (SVU and Criminal Intent) because it's the perfect sick day show. It's oddly soothing, for all that it is about killers and rapists and whatnot. If you doze off in the middle of one episode, and wake up in the middle of another, it doesn't really matter. Also it's fun to play "Spot the Famous People". Every one who was ever in The Wire or Oz appears to have shown up in Law and Order at some point. Plus other people.<br /><br />Truthfully, I like to watch Law and Order on the treadmill too. The storylines distract me from the discomfort while being predictable enough to let me know how much longer I have to go without watching the clock.<br /><br />I...really have no idea why I'm babbling about this except that I must be on the mend, because yesterday I was not at all bored and today I'm starting to be a little bored with the laying around. Also, the dogs are totally over me. Yesterday they were all about taking care of me, and today they keep shoving me off the couch and stealing my pillow and my blanket. I'm going to go shove them around a little, so I can take my lunch nap.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-27832003976435043742012-01-23T16:52:00.004-06:002012-01-23T16:57:41.932-06:00Bueller?You know how you sometimes catch yourself thinking, wow, my life is really awesome? And then the next day all the little things start to pile up to the point that you wish you never got out of bed?<br /><br />So have you ever had one of those days where you get up super early to get to a meeting that is supposed to be before 8:00 in a town about an hour away only to get there and discover that due to poor reading comprehension skills you are actually there 4 hours early? And then your mom calls, sobbing, to tell you that her boyfriend is moving out and that the way he told her was by...moving half his shit out while she was at work the night before? And then been on your way home when you realized you had a flat tire? So you stopped and after about 15 minutes it occurred to you that you could change the tire? And then you dig around in the trunk because the jack appears to be missing? So you have to rely on the two semi homeless looking dudes to change your tire for you? (In fairness, they change that tire with the ease and speed of a freaking NASCAR pitcrew). And then you get home and call your husband in the hopes that he will tell you it is totes okay to drive around on the spare tire indefinitely? But he tells you this is a bad idea so you have to go to the tire place and spend the rest of the afternoon you were supposed to have off because you got to work at 6:30 a.m.?<br /><br />Anybody else? Or is that just me?<br /><br />P.S. Still not pregnant.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-63312848961119067122012-01-12T17:42:00.004-06:002012-01-12T23:14:10.313-06:00Edited: The I'm NOT PREGNANT Edition, which is what I should have called it in the first place, apparently.Life changing things are possibly in the works. And are also possibly not happening, and I've already jinxed it enough by talking about it with a few select people, so...yeah, that's a sucky thing to do. Cool things may or may not be happening but I'm not going to tell you what they are. Which also implies that I think you care. Which, truthfully, I kind of do. Because one thing I have learned about myself: on the surface I have some issues with body image and whatnot, but underneath? In my deepest, truest self? There is nothing wrong with my self confidence level. I generally assume that people think I'm interesting, intelligent, and attractive. And I generally think those things about myself. And that's fine...except 1. I learned early that to fit in you have to pretend that you don't believe those things, and at some point when you are pretending, you maybe start to get a little confused and 2. just because those things are possibly true doesn't mean that everyone is always fascinated by every minute aspect of my life at all times. Sometimes my self confidence crosses over into a self centeredness so vast, it could cover the entire state of Arkansas. It's generally followed by a session of self disgust at my own vanity that probably balances everything out pretty nicely, though, so I got that going for me.<br /><br />Anyway, my point, before I wandered off to chase butterflies in the woods, was that because of the maybe thing I have not really known what to talk about. Like, once I say I can't talk about one little (possibly life changing) thing, I get tongue tied (finger tied?) and I can't seem to talk about ANYTHING. So expect a lot of drivel until probably around the beginning of April, when the thing will either have happened or will not be happening at all. I can talk about it then. And I will. Ad nauseum. Till you are like, can you please shut up about the thing that totally didn't even happen?<br /><br />In the interest of blog consistency: Razorbacks totally won the Cotton Bowl. Which was a much more interesting game than LSU/Alabama. We finally have 3 SEC teams in the top spots of the BCS and then LSU phones it in like a bunch of testicles. I am totally stealing from Betty White. When I want to call something weak, I'm calling it a testicle. It's a new year's resolution I'm pretty sure I can keep. Because she has a point: vaginas are fucking tough. I'm not saying whether the pun was intended there or not.<br /><br />Speaking of resolutions, I don't really do the New Year's Resolution thing. Not because I am against them (Ells- I really liked your post about resolutions actually. When did it become such a mockable thing to want to make yourself better?) But I tend to make resolutions all year. Like, back in June I resolved to quit smoking cold turkey and I have not had a cigarette or any nicotine product for over 6 months. I resolved in November a few years ago to dig myself out of my debt-hole. That one is taking awhile, but is slowly becoming reality. I dug myself a pretty deep hole. Mostly by refusing to look at the hole. Seriously, I recommend everyone regularly add up exactly how much they actually owe. If you had asked me to guess, at the time, I would have told you a number fully 2/3 lower than the actual total. Like, the number it is now, I would have told you that's what I owed then. I also resolved to do regular nice things for other people. Success rate on that is debatable. <br /><br />For instance, I totally went through the whole house and pulled out about 7 boxes worth of nice things to donate to a local homeless shelter. I set it out on the curb for pickup, and went back in the house. A short while later I was leaving to go run an errand and noticed that the pile was considerably smaller. Someone stopped at the curb, went through the boxes that were clearly labeled Little Rock Compassion Center, sorted out what they did not like, and took about 5.5 boxes worth. So when the charity showed up, I had one small pile to donate, and it was some random stranger's reject pile. My intentions were good, Charity Dude, I swear.<br /><br />I also intended to anonymously send my oldest friend some cute things for her two daughters. Just a nice surprise post Christmas thing. There were fairy wings, and a wand, and some books, and some paints, and some play dough. I was really impressed with myself. She'll never know who it is from! Except I...put the return address on the box because I was listening to the radio and they were talking about letters and packages delivered like 30 years late. And I thought of like, undeliveravle mail purgatory, and put my return address on the box. So, she'll still get nice things but the anonymous part...I'm going to have to practice that part. And I hate that I messed that up, because I don't want it to be weird. Like now she's expected to do something for me. That wasn't the point, but that's kind of what happens when you give people gifts. They think they should do something for you. When the idea is to get them to do something nice for someone else entirely. Like this all started because someone raked our leaves for us. And I'd like to be a better person.<br /><br />I did accomplish a few things successfully, but blogging them seems to defeat the purpose, which is just to do something nice. I only blogged the failures because I think it's sort of entertaining. Plus I think it reinforces my point about my inability to keep my giant yap shut about things. <br /><br />Except the thing I'm not going to tell you about until the beginning of April.<br /><br />EDIT: Bleh - I can't comment on my own blog. But in response to comments. DUDES. If it is what you guys think it is, I'm seriously gonna have to break up with my birth control. I better not be pregnant. Damn. Now, I gotta go pee on a damn stick. But seriously, I'm 100% sure that's not what I'm talking about, and also, I'm 99.999% sure I'm not pregnant. Sorry for the confusion.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-3667177864845685072012-01-06T19:39:00.002-06:002012-01-06T19:44:10.874-06:00Woo Pig SooieWatching the Cotton Bowl, rooting for the Razorbacks (ha! see what I did thar? root...hogs...because hogs root...for...things...nevermind).<br /><br />Quick update during the commercial break: no New Year's resolutions. I generally just make changes as I notice they are necessary. It seems to work for me. I've spent the last month cleaning out the closets (then filling them back up at Christmas) and organizing sock drawers and shit. Not that it was really necessary. OCD girl likes things organized. <br /><br />Games back on - have to go watch us kick Kansas' ass. Unless we aren't and then I have to stop watching because sometimes I think I'm a jinx. I haven't really watched the games this year and we were ranked 3 in the SEC, so...<br /><br />Sorry, enough football talk. <br /><br />Go Hogs!Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-83766763980894913332011-12-29T21:49:00.004-06:002011-12-29T22:05:55.245-06:001996. On the surface, it seems like I was boy crazy but I think my one true love at this time may have been myself.14 year old Megs (almost 15!)<br /><br />M is MC this guy I really like (I liked a boy. Shocking!). We could have an interesting relationship (maybe people didn't want to date me because I talked about 'interesting' and 'mutually satisfying' relationships? 40 year old student loan officer indeed) because neither one of us wants anything really serious (bwahahahah), but he sees me like most boys see me - as a grinny girl scout, everybody's little Gilligan (have you heard my new band Everybody's Little Gilligan?) - ever faithful, sweet, and pretty much dull and predictable. I like myself, but I wish I was alluring, mysterious, and sexy (at 14). There's nothing really alluring, mysterious, or sexy about a practical, responsible, _________ girl (1. My husband would like to point out that all those traits 14 year old me hated so much actually make me an ideal wife. 2. I have no idea what that blank was about.)At least I am not really predictable though (or coherent, apparently, wasn't I just lamenting my dull predictableness a minute ago?). I mean, some people can predict me, but not people that I am not really close to (I...okay?)The thing is, I am fairly attractive, smart and interesting (also: modest and humble) so why are guys so not interested in me? (Because 14 yo guys want boobies).I am not stupid, ugly, personality free, or dull so what is the deal? (No boobs). Boys are dumb that's the only thing I can figure out (also I had no boobs. You'd think this was a fairly simple equation for someone so smart...). Anyway, my major crush is M. He did like me once, but I had a boyfriend (except boys never liked me so...coherence: not my strong suit) and he kind of fell for my step sister a little bit (he was so in love with me he immediately transferred that love to my stepsister)but that is over now, and he broke up with his girlfriend two weeks after Valentines Day, so I think he's unattached (in my defense: he didn't actually DATE my stepsister. He just thought she was hot, basically. Also, this never went anywhere).<br /><br />Damn, I spent a lot of my teenage years obsessed with boys, apparently. Also, with myself. On the other hand, I mention in an entry later about how I hate it when I obsess for weeks but I can't help it. These entries were pre-OCD diagnosis, but I can totally see it now.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-1131981302612418142011-12-20T18:17:00.002-06:002011-12-20T18:39:54.383-06:00Let's go way, way back to 1994. Wooo-woooo. That's the noise that happens when you go way way back.Note: I feel I should say here that as far as I know Ben from the previous entry is now a productive member of society. He has a wife and 4 kids, and is presumably quite happy and law abiding. I have mixed feelings about this. Like, I always kind of assumed I "won". You know? Because despite my mockery, he was the first guy to break my heart and even though I am totally over it by now (married, in love, blah blah) I still needed the win a little bit. After all the stuff went down, he actually wrote me a letter and wanted to get back together. I was already with my husband by then, and had no desire to break up with him to take the risk on the other guy. But...I guess that also boosted the old ego and the fact that 10 years later he's not still pining over me taught me something about myself. And that is that apparently there is nothing wrong with my confidence level, because I still kind of expected him to be mourning my loss. Also, I am a spiteful bitch. I'm happy for Ben that he's managed to turn his life around. I just need all of my old boyfriends who ever hurt me to deeply regret that for the rest of their lives and pine away for me for all eternity. Also, I may have tried to facebook stalk him a little bit and he's not on facebook and his wife's page is blocked. If that wasn't embarrassing enough here are journal entries!<br /><br />Dear Diary, <br /><br />A few days ago N told me that J said some bad things about me. I found out today it's true. One day N asked J if he liked me. J said, "No. I hate that _____." Then he called me a bad word. (I can only assume he called me a bitch.) At first, I was so angry I was shaking, then I was hurt. I was hurt because someone I thought was my friend really truly hated me. (12 year old Megs - not a great judge of character apparently.) I guess it is a little humiliating too (I guess?!) It is going to be hard to be kind to him, but I know that is what I need to do. Because God says so and because if I were mean to him it would only make his opinion of me worse.<br /><br />Dear Diary,<br /><br />Today at lunch, N confronted J about that name he called me (I think my mother should have just named Pollyanna and been done with it). J said he didn't call me the name but said I was mean. To me, that is just as bad. I know I'm not always the sweetest person in the world (actually, at this point in life, I might have been one of the sweetest people in the world. At least I was shy enough and doormat-y enough that most people thought that) but I can't imagine what I've done that is that mean. I tried at one point to console myself with the fact that he likes G and she's mean (this was my current best friend. Maybe he was right...)but when I think that I am really being very cruel (okay, it probably wasn't that bad. I wasn't eating her dog or anything). I've prayed that the Lord will help me change what is mean in me so that other people won't think I'm mean (I...don't think this worked).<br /><br /><br />Just so you aren't in suspense, I later attended a Valentine's banquet with J. A Valentine's banquet is what you have when you go to Baptist school and you can't let the kids dance, but you kind of want to let them do something. Anyway, he and I were actually friends later and we still keep in touch. Even if he did call me the B-word. Gasp.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-82043009140313549302011-12-18T14:37:00.003-06:002011-12-18T14:47:53.596-06:00Merry Christmas: In which I make fun of 17 year old MegsI found old journals. So my Christmas present to you is that I will post some of the more interesting entries between now and Christmas. Because nothing says "Christ is born" like my own personal humiliation via the internet.<br /><br /><em></em>Let me tell you about Ben. He makes me believe in love at first sight.<em></em> (Oh. Great. I'm already ready to die because now I know how this love story would have ended, and let me just say it would have involved a trailer park and starring on an episode of Cops. 17 year old me didn't date a lot.) <em></em>He's adorable, but not gorgeous or anywhere close to perfect. I don't know him very well, but we have really good chemistry. <em></em>(At least I didn't call it "a connection".) <em></em>I know he has a really playful, goodnatured personality.<em></em> (He was a pothead.)<em></em> I know he just broke up with his long time girlfriend because she cheated on him several times. But they were not together last August, because he was talking to me and stopped because she lived in Dover. Where he lives. <em></em>(Long time is relative at 17, I guess.)<em></em> That's our main problem - 100 miles and a mountain. <em></em>(He was a pothead. A meth dealing pothead. But you know, the distance and the mountain, that's the important stuff.)<em></em>I really really like him so much. (Not the first pothead I really really liked so much) I know that he likes me too, but I'm afraid that Ben will let the distance stop us from having a relationship that could be very mutually satisfying.<em></em><br /><br />There are so many things I could say about that last line, but I think it will be more mutually satisfying to let it speak for itself.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-68122847809121875412011-12-09T00:32:00.003-06:002011-12-09T00:45:34.574-06:00Bad mood totally flipped around. It's a Christmahannukwaanzica miracle.We went to my husband's work Christmas party tonight. I did not think I would have fun. First, I put on my pantyhose and realized that at some point, someone (and by someone I am pretty sure I mean the dumb demon dog) decided that what I really needed were CROTCHLESS pantyhose. So, awesome. Then I put on the skirt I wanted to wear. It zipped, but it would be an exaggeration to say that it fit. Unless the rules of fit are different now, and a camel toe is a good thing. A camel toe in a skirt. This is basically the same story for the rest of the skirts that I put on. And 2/3 of the pants. Apparently, my ass has been sneaking around behind my back and has taken on Kardashian proportions. Too bad my boobs never get in on the fat gaining action. I might not mind being fat if I at least had a slightly more impressive rack. It doesn't even have to be impressive. Just slightly more impressive than what I have. Which wouldn't require much, since I can comfortably shop in the training bra aisle. Seriously, bras in my size almost ALL come with serious padding, like it is trying to make me feel better about my non-existent breasts. "It's okay," they seem to say, "no one has to know you don't really have boobs. Unless they bump into you and the padding leaves a bruise or something."<br /><br />I finally put together some outfit that I am sure screamed "I HAVE NO CLOTHES THAT FIT!!!" But I really had no choice since I haven't tried any of these clothes on since last year.<br /><br />Then my husband calls me 8 times to see where I am, and decides that maybe he needs to meet me somewhere because I sound "confused" about where I am. Which pissed me off because I knew exactly where I was. He just didn't know where I was. If you follow. So I get there. Without his help. Like a big girl who even knows how to dress herself and everything. And it's a business-y finance-y thing, and I am used to these and I never have anyone to talk to because what I understand about stocks can be summed up as, "People trying to guess what pretend thing might happen to make pretend money happen or something" and what I know about bonds can be summed up as "..." and what I know about taxes can be summed up as "we have an accountant to know that for me".<br /><br />HOWEVER. Three things made this night AWESOME.<br /><br />1. My husband and two co-workers killing at karaoke. You've lost that loving feeling, indeed.<br /><br />2. Other non-banky people who were girls! Who were close to my age.<br /><br />3. I don't have to work tomorrow because he and I are taking a 3 day weekend for his birthday. We aren't doing anything, necessarily, but we have time off. Yay!Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-10275947017947024172011-12-05T17:48:00.004-06:002011-12-05T18:21:15.834-06:00Damn. Apparently, I am no longer following any blogs. This is what happens when blogger decides you're dead, I guess.I have to interrupt my busy schedule of holiday spazzing, cleaning, and staring off into space and then leaping about like a maniac to share with you a new exercise I have discovered that will melt the pounds right off.<br /><br />You will need:<br /><br />1 overweight dog with an aversion to rain. Mine weighs approximately 30 pounds, but this is not strictly necessary.<br /><br />3,000,000 gallons of rain<br /><br />1 cup of a deep and abiding desire to not have all of the floors in your house ruined.<br /><br />a pinch of appreciation for a house that does not smell of urine and/or dog shit.<br /><br />Directions:<br /><br />Forget that you ever had any dignity at all. Otherwise, you'll never get through this.<br /><br />Take the dog outside.<br /><br />Shut the door fast before the dog realizes there is water falling from the sky and attempts to run back in.<br /><br />Tell the dog "go tinkle for Mama". <br /><br />Spend a second or two pondering how a dog can possibly roll it's eyes at you. They aren't really known for their sense of sarcasm.<br /><br />Pick the dog up and walk out into the yard.<br /><br />Set the dog down.<br /><br />Chase the dog as she runs back up on the porch.<br /><br />Pick the dog up and walk out into the yard.<br /><br />Set the dog down.<br /><br />Chase the dog as she runs back up on the porch.<br /><br />Pick the dog up...you do see where I'm going with this, right? Continue to do this until the dog actually pees or you have a screaming fit in the rain which you hope your neighbor's kid didn't hear because you really don't want to be responsible for teaching such a precious child the phrase "goatfucking fatheaded asshole".Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-11486620007370965512011-10-13T20:52:00.003-05:002011-10-13T22:19:35.666-05:00A Short Conversation re: Life Insurance Exam"So, my blood pressure is 120 over 70, my pulse rate was 60 beats a minute, I'm an inch taller than I thought I was for like the last decade or so, and the results from the HIV test should be in before too long."<br /><br />"Please keep me updated on that last thing. That is a fact that would interest me."<br /><br />*SPOILER*<br /><br />I don't have HIV.<br /><br />(Anna- I can't comment on my own frakking blog, but I actually have no idea what happened. I just...didn't know how tall I was. I thought I knew, because I consider myself an intelligent person able to deal easily in simple facts. Except for that time when I didn't know how tall I was. I have no idea why the life insurance people even need to know my height.)Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-70472634261369359182011-10-04T17:01:00.004-05:002011-10-04T17:23:43.641-05:00Kelly made me do it<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggdsdBtv71F9HvBId7XFt4YtWh_MBdO67Lq39-YSbdyPLczdVyNx11Bry-2mIc1-T7DneRa-zf97dBbYXb5zGpgIJuDzzsPo-oiPKX7R_GQznKvc54M4VHXJ0qpiPvOr7h1AGBZUozpWA/s1600/blissful-blogger-award.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 287px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggdsdBtv71F9HvBId7XFt4YtWh_MBdO67Lq39-YSbdyPLczdVyNx11Bry-2mIc1-T7DneRa-zf97dBbYXb5zGpgIJuDzzsPo-oiPKX7R_GQznKvc54M4VHXJ0qpiPvOr7h1AGBZUozpWA/s320/blissful-blogger-award.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659760569390010962" /></a><br /><br />So <a href="http://www.insertcleverlinkhere.com/">Kelly</a> gave me this which I'm wondering if maybe I gave it to myself since I'm pretty sure she's me but about 1000% less Southern and also with a cat. Except I would never give myself an award about being blissful because have you met me? I am currently worried about...everything. No, really, everything, from my mother's mental health to my fat dog's weight problem to whether or not I should walk or run today to the chances the space shuttle is going to land me to whether or not I am a sociopath. But - hurray! An AWARD! A VERY IMPORTANT AWARD!<br /><br />Now I have to tell you 9 things about myself that you might not know...<br /><br />1. I do not own an iPhone. I do own an iPod, but it was a gift and I mostly use my Zen nano because it has lasted about 4 years now and the average lifespan my husband gets out of iPods seems to be approximately 11-13 months. Which sucks. <br />1a. I kind of hate Apple. Probably because I feel pressured to like it, and it's really expensive and really not better, even though people will have a hissy in the comments about how it is too better, but that's only because they dropped a shitload of money on each separate component so they kind of have to do that. <br />1b. Seriously, I'm a PC and I have no problem with that (except for the part where I am ACTUALLY a PERSON and not a machine...)<br /><br />2. I am having a mild bout with anxiety and obsessive thoughts which you can tell by the lack of punctuation and also I'm talking really fast and loud and a lot because the loop in my head is kind of loud...<br /><br />3. I do not like for people to touch my feet. I have hated this since I was a baby. I don't know why. I also don't like things to go in my navel. Maybe that's not weird. But the reason for that is because when I was very small a friend told me that my belly button was actually OPEN at the back, and if you put stuff in there (even to clean it) you could KILL YOURSELF.<br /><br />4. I used to be afraid of mirrors because a girl told me if you looked in one for too long you would get sucked in and you would suffocate. I was a very gullible child.<br /><br />5. I'm still pretty gullible, but since I know this about myself I overcompensate by being overly suspicious in most cases.<br /><br />6. I was adopted when I was 5 days old. My biological parents already had 6 other children. They were immigrants from Sicily. I was raised by Irish people. And SOMEHOW I am still not Catholic. And that's pretty much all I will tell you about my own personal religious/spiritual beliefs. I'm not Catholic.<br /><br />7. I can sing all the words to Ice, Ice Baby and also We Didn't Start the Fire. <br /><br />8. The willow tree in my backyard is enormous, and now I'm afraid it died in the heatwave because all the leaves fell off and it hasn't budded at all since then. This will make me sad because its really pretty and the picture window is arranged perfectly to be able to see through the willow curtain. Also, the woodpecker lives in this tree. I hate birds, but I kind of love this woodpecker.<br /><br />9. I have been known to crush on fictional characters. Notably Trent from Daria, Gilbert from Anne of Green Gables, and Donnie Darko (not Jake Gyllenhaal...Donnie Darko).<br /><br />Now I am going to cheat a little and say...tag you're it! Yes, you, back there in the shirt! And you over there with no pants! Tell me in the comments if you participate and I'll link you.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-44461642111041427782011-09-29T22:06:00.002-05:002011-09-29T22:42:38.329-05:00Exciting! Conclusion!!!*standard disclaimer, blah blah blah*<br /><br />"I haff not forgot how you ruin my life! I am here to ruin yours!" (1. I don't know where dude is supposed to be from, but whatever. 2. I'm not sure how killing his bitch of a wife was ruining...anything, really, except maybe her hairdo?)<br /><br />"What do you mean?" asked Victor. (Super smart, this one, no?)<br /><br />Everyone could tell he was frightened. (How SHAMEFUL. A man with a gun just magically appeared in his house...er...castle, and he is FRIGHTENED. What a pussy.)<br /><br />"I am going to kill your family one by one and I'm going to make you vatch them die! Then I vill kill you!" (I was just your average little girl with pigtails and a horrible blood lust. What?)<br /><br />Chorkhoff raised the gun and aimed it at Kathryn.<br /><br />"Ahhhhh!" Screamed Kathryn (as one does).<br /><br />Joe stepped forward, knocked the gun out of Chorkhoff's hand and kicked it across the room. Royal bent, picked it up, and aimed it at Chorkoff's head. (As you do). With hatred in his voice he said, "You killed my mother and my sister. I should kill you, Pig!" (Dude. You hated your mother. Also, didn't I start this by saying all of these people hated it each other?). Victor then stepped forward and addressed Royal. "If you kill him, you go to jail (there is a cop in the room, after all, and a lot of other cops apparently milling around...speaking of...how did dude get in here again? The world may never know, because I don't think I thought it was important...) We don't want that."<br /><br />Royal dropped the gun. As Joe Brady's second in command walked Chorkhoff Garvenski out, Garvenski turned and screamed, "You took everything from me! My home, my family, my friends! I should haff killed you vhen I had the chance!" (And I would have gotten away with it, if it weren't for those meddling kids! Oh, sorry, that's something else, isn't it?)<br /><br />(Apparently I wrote two endings to this? Here is the one I scratched out:) Today, Chorkhoff is still in jail. Victor remarried and now has the happiness he deserved. Royal ended up a missionary and he even converted Chorkhoff (cough Baptistschool cough), a man he once hated. Andrew is studying to be a CPA. Kathryn got over Julietta's death (uh. huh.) and became a teacher at an elementary school. To this day, they are all happy. (I think that I rejected this ending because do you know what it is missing? BLOOD. BLOOD and DEATH. And a twist.)<br /><br />(Ending I felt happy with, I guess): As Brady's men led Chorkhoff away, Joe spoke up. "Victor, I hate to be a bother (???), but I have to know, how did you ruin Cherkhoff's life?"<br /><br />"Sit down, Joe (now he's Joe, not Sergeant, apparently). It's a long story." Then Victor began the story of how he and Chorkhoff had once been best friends. Then Venetia had come along. "We were both crazy about her. She chose me over Chorkhoff, though I'll never understand why. Chorkhoff became angry. He spit on me and declared that one day he would kill me (would have made more sense to do it a little earlier, I would think, but okay?)" At this point there was a gasp and Royal fell to the ground. He had been shot through the heart (and you're to blame, Darlin', you give love, a bad...name...what?like you weren't thinking it). Everyone went pale as they realized what was going on. A murdered was still loosein the castle. They were being hunted. Shot down one by one until at last there was no one else. "Oh!" wailed Kathryn (wait. I thought there was no one else?) "This is awful! We're like those wooden animals in a carnival shooting gallery!"<br /><br />"It'll be alright. We'll get this guy," Joe said comfortingly. (Dude. 3 dead people. THREE. And you have BEEN THERE THE WHOLE TIME. I do not think you are going to get this guy.)<br /><br />Another shot rang out. (SEE?!?! PS when Royal was shot, no noise. now shots are ringing out?)<br /><br />"Uh," moaned Victor. He had been hit in the shoulder. "Andrew! My son!"<br /><br />They all looked to see Andrew holding a pistol. (Dude. DUDE. Why did you wait for the cops to show up to start on the killin'? Or why not wait till they left? WTF?)<br /><br />"That's right, FATHER," he said sarcastically.<br /><br />"But, why?" Victor asked. It was getting harder to breathe, and black spots were appearing his eyes. (He keeps his lungs in his shoulder, y'all!)But he had to know. Had to know why his own flesh and blood would want to kill him.<br /><br />"Because. You all considered me a weakling. But I'm not weak anymore. I'm more powerful than all of you. You thought I didn't have the desire to be strong. You were wrong! I'm stronger than all of you put together!" All during this speech his voice had risen so he was shouting. When he had finished he spat at his father (people like to spit on Victor).<br /><br />"How?" Joe asked.<br /><br />"What?!" Andrew roared.<br /><br />"How did you do it," Joe repeated.<br /><br />"Mother was the easiest. Everyone was upstairs and she was so caught up in her thoughts she wouldn't hav enoticed me if I was standing in front of her. I merely hit her with the gun. Royal was easy because all I had to do was reach behind him and stick the gun in his back at the place where his heart would be and pull the trigger. Julietta was not so easy. She was across the room from me. I had to shhot her without being seen. In a way, it was fun (I...I may not have been right in the head, y'all). Having all that power, taking those chances. Now it's time to kill the rest of you off."<br /><br />Joe jumped Andrew from behind (he's like a ninja, that one), wrestling him to the ground and throwing the gun across the room. Kathryn snatched it up and threw it out the window. Joe snapped some handcuffs on Andrew and walked him out as Kathryn quickly called 911 for Victor (aren't they...already there?). Victor got out of the hospital the next day (...). Joe helped Kathryn through 3 years of therapy (someone should probably have helped young Megs through a few years of therapy. also? weirdly specific, considering you have no idea what these people look like, what their castle looks like, where anyone is in relation to anything, or even how freaking old these people are.) They are now married (how old were these "kids" supposed to have been???) and have blessed Victor with 7 healthy, rambunctsious grand children.<br /><br />FIN.<br /><br />Y'all. Y'ALL. I was not right in the head.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-91952005318838113952011-09-26T22:16:00.003-05:002011-09-26T22:24:19.084-05:00I like to have my most asinine moments recorded for posterity. Because I live to amuse. Or something.I just needed to say this somewhere, and I'm really not up to the Facebook responses from people I don't know. But anyway, my husband signed me up for some life insurance (note to self: sleep with one eye open) and I just did the interview which is supposed to take 10 minutes and for some reason took me an hour and ten minutes. Because I'm special, obviously. Or maybe because I had to be revived after having a conversation over the phone with a perfect stranger about what I weigh (not telling- but I will tell you that I lied my ass off while my husband rolled his eyes at me. Look if it was a guy on the other end of the phone I probably wouldn't give a shit, but the girl sounded young and cute and I just couldn't tell her the truth. Don't you judge me), if I've put on more than 10 pounds in the last year (I have, then I lost it, then I put 15 back on), and why. What the hell do you mean WHY? <br /><br />So I said, "General laziness I guess?" <br /><br />While my husband's eyes rolled back in his head and he was like, "You run like every day. It's not laziness." <br /><br />"Well, what do you think it is then?"<br /><br />"You eat more."<br /><br />And she wrote all of this DOWN. <br /><br />Unh.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-35529673850539884752011-09-23T20:15:00.003-05:002011-09-23T20:58:55.496-05:00Dun Dun Dun!!!! Part DeuxMy calculations reveal that I was either 10 or 12 when I wrote this. It seems a little complex for 10 year old me, but a little...not good for 12 year old me, so I'm going with 10. All spelling and punctuation is preserved. Current commentary in parantheses. Blah blah blah. P.S. Apparently this was like my opus, my epic, my master work. It is somewhat long. Is what I mean. There will be several parts.<br /><br />Part the Second:<br /><br />Ten minutes later there came the sound of a siren. "Hello, there, I'm Sergeant Joe Brady." said the officer at the door. (Why is he a sergeant? Because why not, that's why).<br /><br />"Hello" came a chorus of nervous voices.<br /><br />"I'd like to get to know all of you before we begin this investigation. Names, please. Start with you." (I watched a lot of Hunter and Dragnet at this time. You'd think I would have had a better idea of how fictional police investigations work, but I guess...not.)<br /><br />"Royal."<br />"Kathryn."<br />"Julietta."<br />"Andrew."<br />"Victor."<br /><br />(I'm sort of impressed this is the correct number of names. I had a short attention span, and I'm surprised I didn't forget there were 2 girls, 2 boys, and 1 father. Also a little impressed that I wasn't overdosing on the dialogue tags. Look, I have to find something good in this okay? That's what I found. Shut up.)<br /><br />"Alright. Now I'm going to ask you some questions. Starting with, uh, Royal, isn't it?" (Joe Brady thinks Royal is a really lame name for a prince, too!)<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"Alright. The coroner (!!!) has estimated the time of death as 9:00 p.m. Where were you?"<br /><br />"Upstairs."<br /><br />"Any witnesses?"<br /><br />"Well, I think just about everyone heard me yell down, but no one actually SAW me."<br /><br />"Alright. Uh," Checking the notepad on which he had been writing. "Kathryn?"<br /><br />"Yes" came the smooth reply (firstly, drink every time the cop says alright. Secondly, smooth reply is the name of my pretend jazz band)<br /><br />"Where were you?" (Because she didn't see this question coming)<br /><br />"I was upstairs with Julietta. She hates storms, you know. (He does?) We were upstairs in her bedroom."<br /><br />"Alright. (Drink!)Julietta, your sister says you are afraid of storms. Is this information correct?" (Because this is relevant. Very, very relevant).<br /><br />"Yes, sir. I am afraid of storms. And yes sir, we were together, " answered a very nervous Julietta. (I think I am trying to throw in some red herrings, y'all. Very very red herrings.)<br /><br />"And you, Andrew?"<br /><br />"I was in the kitchen with Father."<br /><br />"Victor, is this true?"<br /><br />"Yes, Sergeant, it is," came the reply.<br /><br />"Alright (drunk yet?) I'll need to inspect the castle." (They are royalty, remember, even if Joe Friday here is treating them like regular folk).<br /><br />"Of course," said Victor. "We do want to get this solved as quickly as possible."<br /><br />"You'll forgive me for saying so, but none of you seems to (sic) upset about this, "said Joe. (Sergeant was getting boring to write out).<br /><br />"Well, Sergeant, my wife, uh, Venetia, was not a very shall we say, loving, woman. She didn't want children, and yet as she would say, she got stuck with them. Doesn't seem very fair does it?" said Victor drily. (???)<br /><br />"Fair?" asked Sergeant Brady. "What do you mean fair?" (Exactly my question!)<br /><br />"Well, some children spend their entire lives trying to have children, adopt children or what have you, and here a woman who didn't even want them got FOUR. She was so busy not wanting them that she failed to see how wonderful they really are." (said their deadbeat father...also, can you tell from this that I was adopted?)<br /><br />By this time Kathryn and Julietta had tears streaming down their cheeks and Royal and Andrew had their heads bowed.<br /><br />"I see," Brady said quietly. "Well, we'll try to wrap this up quickly." <br /><br />"Thank you, sir, my family and I would appreciate it." King Victor stated with great dignity. this woman must have been awful to live with every day, Joe Brady thought. The old man seems sincere and all these kids! They don't look like they could be murderers. Of course, looks can be deceiving Joe thought. All of a sudden a gun shot sounded. Julietta Pauline Winthrop fell to the floor dead.<br /><br />"No!" screamed Lady Kathryn. She fell to the floor, grabbed her sister, and held her.<br /><br />"She's gone, Kathryn" Royal whispered. "Get up, please don't make it any harder on any one else." (What. The. Fuck. Was wrong with me?)<br /><br />Kathryn got up but she was still crying. The coroner and a large burly police officer came in and carried the body out. Andrew was trying to calm her. Then a man with a gun stepped out of the shadows. "Hello, Victor." he said.<br /><br />"Chorkhoff!" gasped Victor.<br /><br />"Yes, it's me," Chorkhoff said calmly.<br /><br />DUN DUN DUN! TO BE CONTINUED!<br /><br />P.S I cannot comment on my own posts, apparently, but I just read through the last of this story...I was not right in the head, y'all. This shit gets weird. Er. Part 3 should be fun.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-34210648226284936892011-09-15T21:25:00.005-05:002011-09-15T21:58:51.326-05:00Untitled story about royal deadbeats and murder most foul, Part 1.I found another of my fiction masterpieces from my childhood. Since nothing interesting is currently going on, I want to share. Current commentary in parentheses.<br /><br />It was a dark, stormy night. (Because of course it was).Dark clouds rumbled, and streaks of white lightning (sp) lit the sky. It was almost as bad inside the castle as it was outside. Let me stop a moment and explain. (I was really into this conceit of speaking to the reader directly for some reason). The year is 1992. The castle is a true castle where princesses and queens live and kings and princes. You see, royalty still lives there. (In case that wasn't clear when I listed all the types of royal people who live there).But this royal family is about as happy as Charles and Di were. (I...have no idea). Somebody is always jealous of somebody else. Tonight though, while the only light comes from faintly glowing candles, is the perfect time for revenge.<br /><br />"Ohhh!" moaned Princess Kathryn. "Ohhh! I ache all over. Why did this stupid storm have to come just when I needed to go out?" (She aches all over, but she needs to go out at night? Where do you suppose she needs to go? I'm asking because I doubt I ever get around to explaining that. Bo.Ring.Also, the number of Hs in those Ohhhs is exact).<br /><br />"Oh, Kathryn," snapped her mother. "You know the only time you ever go out is to see the doctor. And even then we have to force you to go. Unless of course it's impossible to go anywhere. THEN you want to go out. Now go back up to your room or go somewhere. Just leave me alone." (Mother of the year, right here).<br />"Yes, Mother," said the princess unhappily. Thunder rumbled loudly. (I clearly just discovered adverbs. You could start a drinking game with this sentence).<br /><br />"Ahhh!" Came a scream. Then a form hurtled down the stairs caliding (sp) with Kathryn and knocking both to the floor. "Julietta Pauline! You get off me this instant!" snapped Kathryn. <br /><br />"Sorry Kathryn but you know how I hate storms."<br /><br />"Girls, you both get yourselves upstairs! I am trying to think!"<br /><br />"Trying to think of what Mother?" asked Julietta anxiously.<br /><br />"Never mind of what! Go upstairs!"<br /><br />"Yes, ma'am," they chorused.<br /><br />"Whatever shall I do with those girls?" Venetia Winthrop asked herself. You see, she wasn't really cut out to be a mother. It wasn't even what she had wanted. (You don't say).<br /><br />But here she was, married to a worthless deadbeat with 2 daughters and 2 sons. How had this happened? (I was probably seriously asking, but now all I can think is...sex. Sex is how this happened. Moron. Also...he is somehow a royal deadbeat, who is still married to her...I'm not sure how this works?)<br /><br />All of a sudden she felt a thud and the world went black.<br /><br />"Mother!" called a male voice from upstairs, "Could you get me a bagel?" (Royalty. Just like you and me).<br /><br />Hearing no sharp reply, Prince Royal (Prince. Royal. Prince Royal. Good grief.)called again, "Mother?" Coming down the stairs he called, "Mother!" He passed her chair and walked into the foyer, (I'm still not sure what a foyer is), the kitchen, the great dining room. He turned and ran back to the living room. He checked her chair and there she was slumped over and very, very dead (Didn't he just walk by this chair? Do you suppose I intended these people to be functionally impaired? Also, please note the level of deadness. She is not just dead. She is very very dead. She is very most definitely dead). He screamed and everyone came running. "Father, she's de-de-dead!"<br /><br />"Make some sense, Royal! Who's dead?" their father asked. (Their royal worthless deadbeat father. Who is still living there and helping care for his children).<br /><br />"Mother!"<br /><br />"Venetia?" he said incredulously. (No, their other mother. Maybe I was implying something about royalty and inbreeding? Yeah, I doubt it.)<br /><br />"Father, look at the gash on the back of her head!" cried Julietta. "I'm going to call the police!"<br /><br />TO BE CONTINUED...Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-9384965417344566642011-09-10T20:12:00.002-05:002011-09-10T20:21:43.146-05:00My thoughts, I will tell you them1. The spirit of Martha Stewart has invaded my body. I am baking bread. Like right this minute. After a day of yardwork and housecleaning. I am a little frightened of myself right now.<br /><br />2. Why are people who run consignment stores always so fucking snotty? Man, you peddle used clothing. You are not better than the people who shop here. I have a friend whose theory is that people don't think they are getting a good deal if you aren't totally shitty to them. My personal thoughts on this are that if I am going to give you some of my moneys you should probably be relatively nice to me. And the more moneys I am planning to give you, the nicer you should be. Because I'm pretty sure I can find someone to take my money who will totally kiss my ass, like the whole time. Not that ass kissing is required, just, you know, better than you treating me like I walked in off the street and shit on the carpet or something (I'm assuming here - I've never actually done that. But its how I imagine I would react to someone doing that...I have never done that. Just wanted to be clear.)<br /><br />3. People at 4-way stops who wave you through when its their turn to go are not actually nice. They are assholes who are messing up the whole flow of the stop. Also, they always seem to be doing it impatiently, like they are doing you a big favor and you should hurry or like they think its your turn even though they have been at the stop since before you pulled up or are clearly to the right of you or whatever. I really wish people would stop doing this. It makes me irrationally angry for extended periods of time (note to self: look into therapy). Also irritating? People who get so far up my ass while driving that I feel like I should ask them to wear a condom. Especially when I look down and see that I'm going 10 miles over the speed limit. I mean really people chill. I highly doubt you are on your way to save kittens from cancer or something.<br /><br />To sum up: please call an exorcist because this domestic crap is frightening me and also drivers of the world stop being assholes. That is all.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-4778482183203255472011-09-07T17:18:00.005-05:002011-09-07T17:22:56.150-05:00This is what pure happiness looks like<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd7lFFZVszoInSLY-KaF3W-lwV7HL49Ir93lIFoGSVoIf5omxdO0mZOzgKlhaaW8DZDiI8hByQ4dpJQYs48fh_goIqCczuACHnTA5PvNXU6z4YoATHl9vNT7v0RBAZpKUCWwU5ZqpPlJg/s1600/Sunny.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd7lFFZVszoInSLY-KaF3W-lwV7HL49Ir93lIFoGSVoIf5omxdO0mZOzgKlhaaW8DZDiI8hByQ4dpJQYs48fh_goIqCczuACHnTA5PvNXU6z4YoATHl9vNT7v0RBAZpKUCWwU5ZqpPlJg/s320/Sunny.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649746333875480498" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8TSsi94-clutYs7vABOVxXfX9eJ2clJ3lbWdCcdY42FM6yctZmW8mN4WX6aw6afwg7ZUW-HjBtaJVPmrPIlKSxMcLdhlaf5J2qqrRkj9o-jydxCCP6PGcV8Ha5hnMoTLVeu7IGMn12R0/s1600/Sunny+happy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8TSsi94-clutYs7vABOVxXfX9eJ2clJ3lbWdCcdY42FM6yctZmW8mN4WX6aw6afwg7ZUW-HjBtaJVPmrPIlKSxMcLdhlaf5J2qqrRkj9o-jydxCCP6PGcV8Ha5hnMoTLVeu7IGMn12R0/s320/Sunny+happy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649745894921375474" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsn5CtnbYdDWK7679FpPMD1jPUEbsiNhdYArHiYxq3Jsf5C4t1McYqgCR7VDHrDLg6pknpf107FgRH0sbDxBFZGeki0Z0HaW27nmzyx-Rldk8XyBRpXhTmtUle9mTv9YqF9Osm4KzCJU/s1600/Sunny+Belly.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsn5CtnbYdDWK7679FpPMD1jPUEbsiNhdYArHiYxq3Jsf5C4t1McYqgCR7VDHrDLg6pknpf107FgRH0sbDxBFZGeki0Z0HaW27nmzyx-Rldk8XyBRpXhTmtUle9mTv9YqF9Osm4KzCJU/s320/Sunny+Belly.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649745831512821330" /></a><br /><br /><br />My goal is to be as happy about anything as my dogs are to be awake, alive, and outside in the grass.<br /><br />Also, if you could, ignore the weird outdoor carpeting. That's been ripped out since these were taken. I really don't think I can live in a world where strangers think that I think that that carpeting is okay. That is not okay.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-53659682613864997452011-09-04T22:12:00.003-05:002011-09-04T22:28:11.222-05:00Like Steven Spielberg's version of the 70s, which never actually happened.Today is 12 weeks without a cigarette or any nicotine of any kind. It gets easier all the time, but a weird thing I am noticing is how gold-tinged and happy my memories of smoking are. Like, me and a 6-foot tall cigarette holding hands and skipping barefoot through a field of daisies, heads thrown back in laughter, while cartoon birds flit about, and a Randy Newman song plays in the background. And maybe ponies or something. I know it wasn't actually like that, but that's how I remember it. I have no idea why that is.
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<br />Actually, I had a pony as a kid. That dude was a total bastard. Ponies kind of suck. Which I know is disillusioning for the non-pony people among us. So maybe there weren't ponies, is what I mean. There might have been unicorns though.
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<br />In other news, I actually have no news. I'm just trying to get back in the habit of writing more again, and I haven't actually left the house since Friday. Except maybe to go for a couple of runs. And nothing of note really happens on my runs. Well, there was the one time a truck with like 18 people crammed into the cab followed me for about half a mile and there was another time that there were black adolescents in my vicinity and a middle aged white woman felt compelled to pull over, inform me of their presence, and caution me to be careful, even though I had run by these kids like 5 minutes previously and they were perfectly polite. I think those two things only count as stories if I end up on CNN or find $100 or something.
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<br />I...went through our file cabinets today and threw out/shredded/filed a bunch of crap? Also, continued the never ending civil war against the spiders. I knock down webs, they build more webs. I never see an actual fucking spider. But I know that every day I go to open the microwave and put my hand through a fucking web. I don't know why this is happening to me, but it seems like a good reason to blog more frequently. If you don't hear from me you can assume the spiders won the war and I'm all wrapped up in one of those weird white balls they make.
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<br />I learned today that garter snakes can spray a musk at predators. I learned this because one of the dogs found a garter snake in the yard and the snake did not appreciate being found. The dog was completely unbothered by the spraying, but we already knew she was mentally challenged, so that's not really surprising.
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<br />So...now you know, or some other cliche that makes this post somewhat relevant to anything, anywhere.Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-256410146944524211.post-8366819591730504912011-08-29T22:12:00.002-05:002011-08-29T22:23:25.254-05:00Fat AND dumb, but not deadI don't know what happened. I kept meaning to get on here and tell you guys the story about how the cashier at Wendy's mugged me. Or about the guy dragging a cross down the middle of the road (it had wheels; I'm pretty sure that's cheating). But then two out of three scales agreed that I was fucking fat (yes, they actually said that...like the wheel flipped past all the numbers to a little text box that was all appalled at my fatness. Or something)and I started scarfing down chocolate and Garden Salsa Sun Chips until I slipped into a food coma and blacked out several weeks worth of eating my feelings. Or something. And then I was busy acting out mini-plays about my dogs' back stories (they have back stories) which sounds like a psychotic break to you guys, but just sounds like Tuesday to my husband. And what with all that going on, I haven't blogged in over a month.
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<br />So, uh, here is a trying to get back to blogging and getting over my block story: One day I went to Wendy's for lunch (no, I don't know why my weight suddenly sky rocketed. Why do you ask?) and I paid in cash with a $10 bill. The cashier gave me back the right change. I know because I double checked. But then she said, "Give me back one of those ones." And in my head I'm thinking, "That doesn't make sense; this is the correct change." (With a semicolon and everything. Because everyone thinks in punctuation, right?) But as I opened my mouth to say no, I realized that my hand had automatically reached out and given her back one of the one dollar bills. I have no explanation. She just...she had authority, y'all. I don't know. And I was so shocked at my damn self that I just drove away.
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<br />So I'm fat and dumb. At least I got that going for me.
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<br />Megshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14816741133777543843noreply@blogger.com4